


The Sweetest Thing

by Haepherion



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Bottom Steve Rogers, M/M, New Year's Kiss, Oral Sex, Rimming, lots 'o sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-02
Updated: 2015-01-02
Packaged: 2018-03-04 22:02:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,875
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3092345
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Haepherion/pseuds/Haepherion
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“You look good,” Bucky says, because it’s true. In the two years since he’s seen Steve, he hasn’t changed much physically, except he’s gotten rid of the glasses he used to wear all the time in exchange for contacts. Bucky’s spent days dreaming about the exact shade that Steve’s eyes are, and suddenly there they are, in all their blue and shining glory, bright as ever. Bucky swallows down the lump in his throat, and the urge to do something stupid like grab Steve by his red suspenders and kiss him.</p><p>---</p><p>Now translated into Chinese <a href="http://www.movietvslash.com/thread-170164-1-1.html">here</a></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ghostlywhitedirewolf](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ghostlywhitedirewolf/gifts).



            Bucky watches light from the window speckle Steve’s pale skin. It’s been more than a year and Bucky doesn’t ever think he’ll get bored of watching Steve. Steve, his pink mouth dropped open in a small o as he sleeps, taking up more space on the bed than someone that small should be able to.

 

             Steve, his fair hair tussled and soft-looking, flopping over his closed eyes. Steve is small and pale and ridiculously lovely, all bony elbows and bony knees, stubborn and kind and more than Bucky could have ever dreamed.

 

            Bucky doesn’t believe in true love, but he thinks he might have found something close in the way Steve fits so perfectly with him, his body curled up nicely against Bucky’s.

 

              Sunlight makes Steve look like he’s glowing, skin taking in the light and feeding it back out. Bucky kisses Steve gently on the forehead, reaching a hand up to push Steve’s bangs out of the way.

 

            “Good morning,” Bucky murmurs, watching Steve stir under the sheets.

 

            “Mmm.” Steve blinks awake slowly; Bucky shivers at the vibrations Steve’s grunt sends through him. Bucky wants to say a thousand things; he loves the way Steve arches his back when he stretches, muscles bunching and coiling to form a taut line. He adores the way Steve squints at everything when he doesn’t have his glasses on. And he knows that if he tried to say anything about how endearing Steve is, he would just roll his eyes, flick him in the nose and call him a sap.

           

            Bucky kisses him again, just because he can, working his way slowly down Steve’s jaw; Steve squirms underneath him. Bucky ducks his head beneath the covers, moving lower down the expanse of smooth skin, kissing the sharp jut of Steve’s hip bone before taking Steve’s dick into his mouth. He sucks gently, pulling back so he can tease the slit with his tongue as Steve slowly groans awake.

 

             Reaching up, Bucky takes one of Steve’s lax hands and tangles it in his hair; Steve picks up the hint, twisting his fingers into Bucky’s curls and pulling to make him move faster.

 

            “Patience…is…a virtue…” Bucky says in between licks, smirking when Steve nudges him hard with his heel. Steve’s always going for faster, harder, but Bucky knows he loves it when they take their time too.

 

            “Oh my God…Bucky…shut up…” Steve gasps when Bucky swirls his tongue around the head and sucks, hips jerking up. Bucky reaches up a hand to play with Steve’s nipple, rolling it between his fingers and making Steve arch off the bed.

 

            He could watch Steve come apart like this a dozen times, and he’ll never get sick of it. Steve likes it hard and fast and maybe Bucky _is_ a sap, but he loves it like this, taking time to play with Steve, to touch him in all the right places and draw the loveliest sounds from his pillowy pink lips. Bucky takes a breath in through his nose, shuts his eyes in concentration and pushes Steve’s cock further until he can feel it pressing against his throat, focusing on relaxing to let Steve in.

 

            “Fuck…fuck” Steve rasps, toes curling against the sheets. Bucky pulls off with a pop, grinning as he works his hands up and down Steve’s slick cock. Steve’s mouth is open, his eyes half-lidded in pleasure; Bucky could write a thousand words dedicated to the sleek line of Steve’s neck, the points of his collarbone bruised with Bucky’s kisses from last night, the flat plane of his stomach.

 

            “Bucky, I’m gona—“

 

            Bucky dutifully ducks back down and sucks Steve’s cock back into his mouth, hands kneading at Steve’s ass, feeling them clench underneath his hands as Steve empties himself into Bucky’s mouth.

 

            Steve’s voice cracks on a groan, fingers tightening in Bucky’s hair. Bucky loves it, loves lazy sex in the morning and sleepy Steve, soft around the edges and mussed with contentment.

 

           “You’re so cute when you come,” Bucky smiles after a moment, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. Steve swats at him lazily, loose limbed and breathless.

 

            “You’re such a jerk. Come here,” Steve pants. Bucky happily obliges, fitting his mouth over Steve’s.

 

            “Mmf, you taste like come,” Steve murmurs against his lips.

 

            “Yeah? Who’s fault is that,” Bucky laughs, combing his fingers through Steve’s blonde hair.

 

            “Never said I didn’t like it,” Steve replies, one hand wandering its way down Bucky’s chest and lower…

 

            Bucky hears a buzzing sound, and then a generic ring tone chimes from off to the left in the room where his cell phone is plugged into the wall.

 

            “Whoever it is can wait,” Bucky says, holding on to Steve’s hand where it’s lingered right below his belly button.

 

            “Bucky you gotta change your ringtone,” Steve grumbles, but obliges, sneaking his hand down until Bucky feels slender fingers wrap around his dick.

 

            Bucky mouths at Steve’s shoulder, licking at the pulse point in his neck and savoring the taste of Steve on his tongue. Steve spits into his hand, then swipes a good amount of the mess of drool and come on his own hips and smears it against Bucky’s cock, jerking in steady movements, hand pausing at the top to rub underneath the head of his dick.

 

            Bucky’s phone starts ringing again.

 

            “Must be important,” Steve says.

 

             Bucky groans. “Steve, Stevie, you’re ruining the mood.”

 

            The third time Bucky’s phone starts ringing, Steve huffs in annoyance.

 

            Bucky honest to god _whines_ when Steve leaps off the bed, pulling the charging cord out of the phone and answering the call with the hand that wasn’t just on Bucky’s dick.

 

            “Hey ‘Tasha. Bucky and I are kind of busy at the moment. Can it wait?”

 

            Bucky is going to kill her later. Thankfully, she hangs up, though he can hear the sarcasm in her voice all the way from the bed.

 

            “Thanks, bye.” Steve tosses the phone back on the ground, looking back towards where Bucky is pathetically rolling around on the bed.

 

            “Patience is a virtue,” Steve smirks at him.

\---

            “You should probably call Natasha back,” Steve murmurs. Bucky grunts from where he’s cushioned his head on Steve’s stomach. Steve pokes his cheek.

 

            “Go, Bucky. She made me promise that you’d call her back. I’ll run out and grab sandwiches while you do that?” It’s still slippery outside from the melting snow, and last Steve checked, there was nothing in the fridge. Leave it to Bucky to forget to do normal human things like go grocery shopping.

 

            Bucky grumbles but sits up, rolling off the bed to grab at the previously discarded cell phone and rub sleep out of his eyes as he scrolls through his contacts. Steve takes a second to appreciate Bucky’s back muscles flex before clambering out of bed himself.

           

            He picks through the assortment of clothing littering their floor, making a mental note to clean up when the weekend rolls around while Bucky yawns at the phone. Steve finally finds a pair of his jeans, plucking them out from underneath a pile of Bucky’s clothes. There are a few condom wrappers on the floor; Steve picks them up between pinched fingers, because _ew_ —he turns around and throws them in the trash.

 

            “You almost cockblocked me, ‘Tasha,” Bucky says by way of greeting. Steve flushes, shooting Bucky a look over his shoulder. The smug bastard has the gal to _wink_ back at him; Steve wants to kiss the stupid grin off his face.

 

            Steve throws on one of Bucky’s shirts and steps into his boots, taking a moment to stretch his arms above his head.

 

            “Buck, do you want Potbelly’s or Panera?” Steve murmurs quietly so as to not disturb his phone conversation. He turns around to see Bucky mouth his reply—except he doesn’t. Bucky’s got a strange look on his face, and Steve can just barely make out Natasha’s voice from the other end of the line, but whatever it is doesn’t sound like her usual teasing or sarcastic tone. Steve feels his pulse skip.

 

            “Everything okay?” Steve mouths, watching as Bucky’s expression goes carefully blank. He nods, holding up a finger.

 

            “Hang on, ‘Tasha,” he says into the phone.

 

            “Uhm, Potbelly is fine, thanks,” Bucky says to Steve, getting up from the ground. Steve watches as Bucky grabs a pair of sweats from the ground as he moves out of the bedroom and into the small living room area.

 

            Steve quickly grabs his jacket off the back of his chair, checking to make sure his wallet and keys are there before heading out towards the door. Bucky’s sitting on one of the couches, a strange smile on his face.

 

            “I know it has, but I dunno. It’s not like I don’t want to or anything…I’m happy here. I don’t really care about that as much as I used to.”

 

            Steve waves as he passes Bucky on the way out the door, mind buzzing with what that could possibly mean.

\---

            “’Tasha, I’m sure.”

 

            Bucky can hear Nat sigh from the other end of the phone. 

 

            “Bucky, you know I’ve always gone with whatever you’ve wanted. And trust me, I think Steve’s had a good influence on you. But maybe…you can consider asking him to come with you?”

 

            “We’re not talking about moving across Brooklyn here, we’re talking across the country. AND, he told me he thinks they’re gonna promote him soon. I can’t just make him give up his career like that, Nat. Mine is at least…I dunno. I just need a laptop, I can be anywhere and I’m happy. Really. I’ll just keep writing from New York, and maybe in a few years...I dunno. We’ll see how things are then.”

 

            “I can’t promise you that this opportunity is going to show up again. Warner Brothers is huge. Bucky, screenwriting’s all you’ve wanted to do since you were in high school.”

 

            “I know. Look,” Bucky sits up on the couch, “you know how…like, when I was 16, all I wanted to do was write a movie that Lindsay Lohan would star in, so I could marry her and party with her on a yacht?”

 

            “How could I forget,” Natasha deadpans.

 

            “That’s the thing—I grew up. And yeah, this is an amazing opportunity, but things are different now. Steve’s more important to me, you know? And if I’ve gotta make this sacrifice to make it work, then I will.”

 

            There’s a pause on the other end of the line.

 

            “As your agent and co-editor, I don’t think you’re making the right choice. But as your friend…I can tell you’re happy. Haven’t seen that out of you in a while, Barnes. You’re really serious about him?” Natasha says.

 

            Bucky smiles. “Yeah. I am.”

\---       

            “Hey, tell Bucky congrats from me,” Sam says, clapping Steve on the shoulder, zipping up his coat against the cold weather outside the restaurant. It’d been a few days since the phone call, and Steve was slowly beginning to realize that he might be the last person on Earth to not know what it was about.

 

            “…congrats for what?”

 

            Sam stares at him. “The new job offer? Natasha told me. Warner Bros…man, that’s a whole other level.”

\---

            Bucky’s loves watching rom coms and reading romance novels to figure out all the impressive ways authors break up the two main love interests. There always has to be some sort of buildup to the conflict—Romeo and Juliet wouldn’t have been half as interesting if their families didn’t hate each other. Jane Eyre and Mr. Rochester couldn’t have been together if they hadn’t each gone through their own hardships.

 

            But they never talk about how simple it could be too. How everything that hangs in the balance could be just that—hanging, by a gossamer thread that’s cut.  

            Steve comes home with red eyes and says, “We need to break up.”

 


	2. Chapter 2

          If there's one thing Bucky's learned about his time with Steve, it's that once the guy sets his mind to something, there's no turning back. Bucky learned to accept the stubbornness as just part of Steve's charm--he just never thought it would apply to them, as a couple.

\---

           Steve cleans out all of Bucky’s books in his apartment. He can’t bring himself to throw them away, so he seals them all in boxes and stores the boxes in the basement of his apartment complex.

 

            They hurt too much to look at.

\---

            Bucky presses his cheek against the cool window, feeling his stomach dip uncomfortably as the plane climbs higher and higher into the sky. The buildings shrink, lights becoming pinpricks on the ground.

 

            10, 20, 30 thousand miles into the air, and Bucky can’t help but feel like he’s left something important behind.

 

             _It’s natural_ , he tries to remind himself, to feel sad about moving away from home. He’s lived in Brooklyn his whole life--it’s about time he left anyway. This is what he’s always wanted to do, and now he’s getting the opportunity to.

 

            It should be a dream come true.

 

            It  _is_  a dream come true, Bucky thinks firmly. This job, this opportunity—it’s what inspired him to become a writer in the first place. To create things that would touch people, make people laugh and cry and maybe explain a thing or two about human emotion. He’d be lying to himself if he said he hasn’t dreamed about this since he was a pimply teenager, scrawling short stories on half-filled journals and squirrelling away every extra minute he had to writing on his laptop during college lectures.

 

            Bucky turns the volume up on his crappy airplane headphones and tries to sleep.

 

            He’ll find a different home. He’s always been good at adapting. 

\---

            Sam bounces the ball over to Steve, who feels like he’s a few seconds away from having an asthma attack. Sam doesn’t say anything, though he keeps looking at Steve with those ‘are you okay’ expression. Steve hates being coddled. 

 

            “I’m gonna go grab some water,” Sam says a few minutes later, jogging off towards the sideline while Steve plops right down on the ground where he was just standing, tiredly putting his hands on top of his head so he can breathe deeper. Sam rolls him his water bottle, sitting down on the court next to him.

 

            It’s still chilly to be playing ball outside but Steve appreciates the cool wind blowing against his skin. Once the flowers bloom in a few weeks it’ll be too much of a hassle to deal with his allergies to stay outside for long. The snow’s all melted for now though, and at least the sun’s out so it’s not too bad. Steve sucks in a deep breathe, feeling the chill all the way down to his toes, the cold air making his chest ache.

 

            Steve sits up, wiping away the sweat on his forehead and taking a long gulp from the water bottle. Sam doesn’t even look like he’s broken a sweat.

 

            “How’s life,” Sam says casually.

 

            “Fine. I think they’re gonna promote me,” Steve says; the words come out shaky with breathlessness, but Sam doesn’t comment.

 

            “How about you?”

 

            Sam shrugs. “It’s cool.”

 

            They sit in silence for a bit, until Steve tosses his water bottle aside and stands again. Steve doesn’t say anything, and Sam doesn’t push.

\---

            L.A. Bucky soon comes to realize, is tiring. He watches people buzz in and out of coffee shops and malls wearing beanies, cropped tops and high waisted shorts and tries to make up little backstories about people, like he used to in New York.

 

            Bucky writes a script that’s 60 pages of nothing, and hates the disappointed look his new editor wears.

\---

            “It was Bucky’s ultimate dream.”

 

            Sam shifts from where he’s laying flat on Steve’s couch, reading off an iPad.

 

            “Hm?”

 

            “He wanted to go to L.A. to write scripts.”

 

            “Yeah? Seemed like he was pretty happy writing books in New York.”

 

            “He wouldn’t have been happy doing that long-term.”

 

            “You asked him?” Sam asks.

 

            Steve sets down his pencil, looking at the half-shaded sketch of Sam lying on his couch. Not his best work, the lines aren’t clean enough. He’s getting better though; he hasn’t drawn since Bucky moved, and it isn’t exactly like learning how to ride a bike again, but he’s getting his mind working on shadows and patterns again.

 

            “No…but it wouldn’t have been fair of me to stop him from going.”

 

            Sam sits up on the couch, quiet for a moment. Steve sets down his pencil.

 

            “People change, Steve. Sometimes your priorities shift. Sometimes you want something, something else comes along and changes your mind.”

 

            Steve hears the implied ‘someone else’ in Sam’s sentence.

 

            “When you and Jenn were dating, you broke up with her so that she wouldn’t feel she had to go to the same college.”

 

            Sam waves a hand.  “That’s different. We were kids, we were gonna break up anyway, we didn’t have the same goals.”

 

            Steve shakes his head. “And neither does Bucky. I can’t be the one holding him back from what he wants to do. It’s not fair to him. I can’t let that happen.”

 

            Steve doesn’t talk about the 5000 other reasons that ran through his head before he made the decision to let Bucky go. Bucky doesn’t need to have someone with a hundred and one health problems to take care of; Bucky doesn’t need someone who’s dependent on him to bring in half their living cost.

 

And if Bucky can’t realize it, then Steve will just have to pony up and be the one to set him free, even if it hurts. Especially if it hurts.

 

            Sam looks at him. “Steve, that’s ridiculous. You weren’t holding him back, he was  _happy_  with you. And you liked him, right?”

 

            Steve sighs.

 

            “Yeah, I like him. But he deserves better, Sam.”

\---

            Bucky decorates his new apartment like one of those bachelor pads he’s always wanted. He always thought being a bachelor meant needing a cool apartment, except he’d loved his crappy apartment in New York so much that he hadn’t bothered to upgrade it even when he had enough money to. This one, however, was everything that he’d always dreamed of. ‘Modern’, ‘sleek’, and just a step away from monochrome.

 

            It’s a lot different than what he’s used to. A lot emptier--whatever picture frames and little knick-knacks he’d had, he’d donated or stored in Natasha’s basement. He doesn’t need reminders of any time before this.

 

            It’s like starting a new chapter in a book, he supposes. It always sucks at first, but once you get rolling with it, it gets easy.

 

            Bucky adjusts his black leather couch a bit to the left of the otherwise empty living room and sits himself down. There isn’t heavy traffic like there was in New York, and the apartment is new enough where each unit is heavily insulated and soundproofed, so he can’t hear what his neighbors are up to.

 

            Bucky pulls his laptop out of his bag, and pulls up a blank page, relaxing into the plush cushions.  _This’ll be easy_.

 

            He sits and waits for the words to come to him.

 

            They don’t.

\---

            Natasha invites Steve to her New Years party.

 

            Steve respectfully declines. He goes out with some of his old college friends instead. Peggy’s back from England, Jim is getting married, Dugan’s just had another kid, and Falsworth and Jones are both enjoying successful careers, and Dernier sends his regrets that he can’t be there, along with a cute Christmas card of him and his kids and wife standing in front of the Eiffel Tower.

 

            Steve tells them he’s been promoted, and gets congratulatory slaps on the arm. He tries to look as excited as they do. This is good for him; he’s finally making enough money to pay off all his student loans, and he’ll be able to move into a new apartment soon, one of those high rises. Not that he has any need of one, but getting out of Brooklyn will be a good change for him.

 

            They hop from bar to bar, and Steve and Peggy are the last ones standing when the clock strikes 2am. She gently but firmly turns down his offer to stay over night, and he’s too drunk to care whether or not things are awkward now.

 

            Stumbling into a cab at the end of the night, he almost slips up and tells the driver Bucky’s apartment address instead, before remembering that Bucky doesn’t live there anymore. He never will.

 

\---

            Bucky spends New Years at Stark’s party. There’s a lot of drinking, a lot of drugs, and he wakes in the morning to the sun shining daggers of light into his eyes and no memory of what happened the night before except flashes of red panties, too loud fireworks, and eyes that weren’t the right shade of blue.

 

 


	3. Chapter 3

           “So…are you going to Nat’s party?”

 

            Steve grips his fork tighter, stabbing the spaghetti perhaps a touch more viciously than he has to, aggressively twirling the noodles around the points.

 

            “I dunno.”

 

            Sam pokes at his lasagna.

 

            “Look. I know last year you were with your pals, but I haven’t heard you talk about them this year. I’ve known you for a lot longer than I’ve known Natasha. If you wanna just hang out and skip on the party, tell me.”

 

            Steve doesn’t know if he’s glad that Sam isn’t mentioning Bucky, or pissed that he feels like he has to dance around the subject for Steve’s sake.

 

            “What, because of Bucky?” Steve almost stutters on the name.

 

            “Listen Steve, I know how much he meant to you. You shoulda seen yourself after,” Sam says quietly. “Haven’t seen you that wrecked since Peggy moved.”

 

            Steve bites into his spaghetti. It tastes oily and slimy, and suddenly he feels sick.

 

            “I appreciate it Sam. But I can get by just fine. We dated, we broke up. We’re both adults—we can handle ourselves.”

 

            Sam doesn’t look up, pushing some meat sauce around with his fork. Steve’s seen that look on Sam’s face more times than he can count. He knows his friend means well, but Steve hates it when Sam wears the concerned mother hen face.

 

           “Have you talked to Bucky since you guys split?”

 

            Steve takes a sip of his water—it doesn’t do anything to quell the dry clench in his chest. The tightness in his throat almost feels like an asthma attack, though he hasn’t gotten one in months.

 

            “No. And—“ Steve cuts in when he sees Sam opening his mouth to talk, “I’m not going to. We thought it would be best to just split cleanly. No loose ends that way.”

 

            Sam shakes his head, taking another bite of his lasagna.

 

            “So yes, I’m going to Natasha’s. And if he has a problem with me, he can leave,” Steve says, an ache in his chest even as he says the words. His fork his the table with a resounding clatter. “I’m full.”

 

            “Steve, you barely touched your food.”

 

            Steve bites the insides of his cheeks until Sam calls the waiter over for their check.

 

\---

 

            “How’s California?”

 

            “Hot. Dry.” Bucky says with his chin propped up in his hand. Natasha shifts in her chair, eyes darting on the screen. She’s obviously multitasking while Skyping him—Bucky’s far too used to her doing multiple things at once to be offended that her attention isn’t solely on him. “How’s New York?”

 

            “New York is New York as usual,” Natasha says. Bucky can hear her clicking and typing, answering emails probably; “It’s getting colder though. We had some sleet yesterday. It’s probably going to snow soon.”

 

            Bucky sighs wistfully, thinking back to this time last year in New York. It was prime time for pumpkin latte season, and it just isn't the same trying to order hot coffee in southern California.

 

            “How’s Sam?”

 

            “He’s fine. He told me to say hi.”

 

            “Well, tell him I say hi back.”

 

            Natasha nods, and there’s nothing but the sound of her typing for a few moments. Bucky opens up a blank word document and stares at the blinking cursor. It’s become a routine of sorts now. Bucky never believed in writer’s block, but there’s a first for everything.

 

            “It’s the heat.”

 

            “Hm?” Natasha’s eyes flick to the camera quickly.

 

            “It’s the heat. Everything here just stays the same. It’s always hot, I need to go into winter mode. I can't write unless I'm cold and cooped up.”

 

            Natasha stares at the camera, something unreadable in her eyes.

 

            “Maybe you should move back.”

 

            “You’re the one who told me to make the move in the first place,” Bucky points out, to which she shakes her head.

 

            “Don’t pin this one on me, Bucky. You know I would hav supported whatever decision you would have made.”

 

            “Sorry…you’re right. it’s what I thought I wanted too,” Bucky sighs. “Guess you never know what you want, until you realize what you  _don’t_  want.”

 

             Natasha raises an eyebrow. “I hope you’re putting some of that philosophical tripe you’re talking into your next screenplay.”

 

            Bucky snorts. “I should. I dunno ‘Tasha, something about the weather here…it’s like California’s dried out my creative juices.”

 

            “…was that supposed to be some joke.”

 

            “What?”

 

            “You know there’s a drought there, right?” Natasha says.

 

            “Oh! Ha…wasn’t meant to be a pun. Damn that was good wasn’t it?”

 

            Natasha rolls her eyes.

 

            “So are you coming back for my New Year’s party?”

 

            “Oh shit, I forgot.” He hasn’t, of course. Natasha sent the e-vite weeks ago; he’s been invited over to her place every year since they became friends.

 

            “I need to know soon."

 

            “Who else is going?”

 

            Natasha pauses in her typing.

 

            “Steve’ _s_  gonna be there, isn’t he? Natasha?”

 

            Natasha sighs. “He’s my friend too, Bucky. So yes, he is.”

 

            Bucky shrugs. “Alright.”

 

            Bucky watches Natasha squint at him through her camera.

 

            “You’re a smart guy, Bucky. But you can be really stupid. I have to run to the office in about ten minutes. Are you coming back for the party or not? You need to buy plane tickets.”

 

            “Yeah, of course. Wouldn’t miss it for the world,” Bucky says. He’s been called a lot of things before, and he thinks he’s a lot of things he’s probably not, but he is definitely not a coward. Doesn’t matter that the thought of Steve kind of makes him want to leap out of his seat and dance and also curl up in a corner and cry—he’ll be able to handle seeing him for a few hours without breaking down.

 

            Besides, he’s not sure what he would do if he stayed here—keep go to Stark’s parties maybe, though the thought of it was about as unappealing as swimming in a tank full of sharks. Which he definitely would be; Stark made friends with the strangest people, and Bucky’s convinced that about half of his producer friends were out to get him.

 

            “Good. And Bucky?”

 

            “Yeah?”

 

            “’ _Love doesn’t just happen—sometimes, you gotta grab it with both hands and make sure it doesn’t escape.’”_

 

            Bucky recognizes the quote from one of his own books, one of the earlier ones he’d written.

 

            “What’s the hell’s that supposed to mean—?”

 

            “Take care of yourself, I’ll see you soon,” Natasha says, and signs off with a blip.

 

            Bucky sits back in his chair, the leather sticking uncomfortably to his hot skin.

 

\---

 

            Sam gives him a once over.

 

            “…too much?” Steve says nervously, tugging at the bowtie around his neck. They match his red suspenders and red socks—the entire thing had been a Christmas gift from Natasha, who said that he needed something other than ‘those old man stripe ties’ that he wears to the office for work. Not that he has any need of them anymore.

 

            Steve twitches under Sam’s gaze, travelling from the hair that Steve would shamefully admit he spent way too much time on, to the crisp white collar shirt and black pants.

 

            “Nah…you look good,” Sam says, a knowing smile on his face.

 

            Steve moves to push his glasses up, only to meet air; he’d finally gotten another prescription for contacts, and he keeps forgetting that he’s wearing them. He aborts the move into an awkward nose scratch at the last minute. Sam laughs at him.

 

            “You’ll be fine, Steve, quit your worrying.”

 

\---       

 

            Bucky fidgets, tinkering with the watch on his wrist. It’s 6:30pm, and he knows that Sam and Steve together are the most punctual people he’s ever met, which means they’ll be showing up any second, and Bucky’s rehearsed this over and over in his head. They’re both adults, they can handle their stuff. It’ll be hard for sure, but—

 

            “Bucky, I can hear you thinking all the way from here. Stop.”

 

            “Sorry,” Bucky says, and the two drinks he had to calm his nerves are doing absolutely nothing for him. “’Tasha, what do I even say. I mean, what if he doesn’t wanna talk to me? Should I still say hi?” It’s a ridiculous question and he knows it; there are dozens of people at the party and he could easily ignore Steve the entire night if he wanted to…but he doesn’t want to.

 

            The doorbell rings, and before Bucky’s fight or flight instinct can kick in Natasha pins him with a glare.

 

            “Bucky, why don’t you go open the door.”

 

            Bucky swallows. Because suddenly Steve and Sam are there, Sam looking put together in a nice cashmere sweater and Steve looking  _hot as hell_  in a crisp white shirt and red bowtie with suspenders to match.

 

            “You look good,” Bucky says, because it’s true. In the two years since he’s seen Steve, he hasn’t changed much physically, except he’s gotten rid of the glasses he used to wear all the time in exchange for contacts. Bucky’s spent  _days_  dreaming about the exact shade that Steve’s eyes are, and suddenly there they are, in all their blue and shining glory, bright as ever. Bucky swallows down the lump in his throat, and the urge to do something stupid like grab Steve by his red suspenders and kiss him.

 

            Instead he settles for what he hopes is a cool smile, sticking out a hand for Steve to shake.

 

            “You too. C’mere, you jerk” Steve says quietly, and then Bucky’s got an armful of Steve pressed up against him and he feels like this is the first time he’s been able to properly breathe in months.

 

\---

            “10!”

 

            Sam’s disappeared somewhere in the throng of people, and Steve has a split second to consider going back inside where it’s warm. But it’s New York and New Years, and he can hear the cheering from Times Square even from here.

 

            “9!”

 

            Natasha pushes him gently towards the banister before melting back into the small crowd of people all jostling for space on her balcony.

 

            “8!”

 

            Everyone is yelling like a bunch of crazy teenagers, wine glasses and beer bottles in hand, ignoring the cold bite of the wind in favor of clinging to their loved ones. Steve clings to the cold railing underneath his hands and shivers

 

            “7!”

 

            Steve feels someone nudge him from the back and whirls around and suddenly he’s  _warm_ , the cold railing at his back and Bucky’s warm body standing too close and too far away from his own.

 

            “6!”

 

            The wind has whipped Bucky’s hair into a frenzy and he looks handsome as ever, cheeks pink with cold; he takes off his jacket, and Steve has all of half a second to feel bewildered until Bucky drapes his heavy pea coat over Steve’s shoulders, and he’s surrounded by the smell of Bucky’s cologne.

 

            “5!”

 

            There’s a wild look in Bucky’s eyes, and it looks like there’s a hundred things he wants to say. He looks  _scared_ ; Steve can hear his heartbeat in his ears.

 

            “4!”

 

            Bucky eyes flick back and forth nervously. He licks his lips and Steve, god help him, feels his knees go weak. He can’t do this; he can’t be selfless about this anymore, consequences be damned.

 

            “3!”

 

            Steve sees Bucky’s hand move towards him the same time he reaches out, slow and steady; it’s unstoppable, and maybe they’ll always be smashing into each other like this, a pull between their bodies that’s just as undeniable as gravity.

 

            “2!”

 

            Bucky’s waist is warm and firm. Bucky’s mouth is parted slightly, eyes wide and pupils blown, but focused, all of his attention on Steve. Steve feels like he’s been stripped bare and vulnerable under his gaze and he  _aches_.

 

            “1! Happy New Year!!!!”

 

            The crowd roars around them and there are explosions of light in the sky and Steve doesn’t think, closes his eyes and moves and Bucky’s mouth crashes onto his; their teeth clack together and they both taste like alcohol, but Steve forgets about all everything else because it’s  _perfect_.

 

            “Stay…please. Stay,” Bucky whispers.

 

           

 

\---

_One year later_

\---

            Bucky chews on his nail, staring at the last line. It doesn’t feel right, although he’s not sure that anything would feel right. Endings are the easiest things to come up with, but really, they’re the hardest things to write.

 

            He doesn’t do bittersweet well.

 

            “Hey Steve?”

 

            Steve stirs under the blankets but doesn’t say anything.

 

            “How’s this sound: ‘ _And maybe they’d never find perfection, not in this world. But they could get close_.’”

 

            Steve grunts.

 

            “Yeah, you’re right,” Bucky mumbles, highlighting the last two sentences and deleting them, “too melodramatic. Also your feet are like damn icicles, stop pushing them under my legs.”

 

            “Mmf.”

 

            Bucky sighs.

 

            “What about… _’love is a many splintered thing, but the two of them manage to piece together a whole?’’_ ” Bucky types the sentence and leans back against the pillows, staring at it from far away like he can determine what the picture that last sentence would paint, if his novel were a gallery piece.

 

            Steve mumbles something unintelligible from under the blankets, and then shifts. Bucky draws a sharp breath when he feels Steve touch him, fingers lazy and light as they play along his stomach and trail lower.

 

            “Listen…Steve, baby, doll, honey pie, I can’t finish the end of this damn thing if you keep t-touching me like…that,” Bucky groans, heat curling slow in his gut as Steve replaces his exploring fingers with his lips.

           

            “You’re not playing fair,” Bucky whines, but he can’t find it in himself to care.

 

\---

 

“ _So you’re just going to leave? Just like that?”_

_“Are you gonna try and stop me?”_

_“Are you gonna tell me not to?”_

            Bucky types, letting Steve read the words over his shoulder.

 

            “Why does reading this feel déjà vu,” Steve says dryly.

 

            “I was inspired. And I think their story ends in happily ever after. It should, at least.”

 

            “It better,” Steve says quietly, kissing Bucky’s shoulder. “C’mon. Let’s open presents now, you can finish the story later.”

 

\---

 

            “Natasha says she needs the whole thing by tonight. She’s in fucking  _Belize_ , she’s supposed to be on vacation,” Bucky laments, glancing at his word count. “Making me do work on New Year’s Eve…”

 

            Steve yawns, pouring out some coffee from the machine and sliding it down the table to Bucky. He pours a glass of water for himself, rummaging in their pantry for a box of cereal. Bucky’s glad that both of them are odd eaters—it’s almost 11pm and they’re both eating breakfast food.

 

            “I dunno why you’re so glum, Buck, the book is done. And it’s good, too. You’ve got nothing to worry about.”

 

            “This last sentence thing is gonna bother me.”

 

            Steve sits on the barstool next to Bucky, nestling his chin over Bucky’s shoulder as he shovels a handful of dry cereal into his mouth. Steve scans an eye over the last page, thinking as he chews.

 

            “It’s too ‘happily ever after’; plus, you need to give me something physical to draw, you can’t just have everything happening inside the dude’s head.”

 

            “Easy for you to say—your deadline isn’t until I finish this” Bucky says. Steve smirks. “Perks of being an illustrator; authors never turn their shit in on time, so it’s a plus for me.”

 

            Steve’s got Cinnamon Toast Crunch crumbs all over his lips, and contrasted with his bed-head and huge dorky glasses, Bucky kind of loses his train of thought over how adorable his boyfriend is.  

 

            “You’re tellin’ me,” Bucky says, dropping a quick kiss on Steve’s sweet lips, “that I should go back and just change the whole thing? Make the two boys not end up together at the end, after all they’ve been through?”

 

            Steve shakes his head.

 

            “People like a little salt with their sugar.”

 

            “This, coming from the guy who literally eats sugar for breakfast,” Bucky says sarcastically, licking the sweetness off his lips before taking a sip from his water.

 

             “Maybe you don’t need to end the story,” Steve says. Bucky squints at him.

 

            “Steve, all stories need an ending. I can’t just “not end” the story.”

 

            “End it in a not-ending.”

 

            “That doesn’t even make sense,” Bucky grumbles, flipping his laptop closed with a sigh. He’s probably not going to finish it tonight, and Natasha is probably going to throw a fit, but he could care less. Steve bumps him with a bony shoulder, offering him a handful of cereal.

 

            “Don’t sweat it, Buck. I’m sure the perfect ending will pop up in that giant head of yours.”

 

            “My head is  _not_  that big!” Bucky says, stealing the box of cereal out of Steve’s hands. Steve tries to tug it back while Bucky bolts from the bar stool, dashing into the living room where Steve tackles him with surprising strength onto the couch, his weight pressing Bucky into the cushions.

 

            The box explodes between their hands, covering them with sugar and cinnamon, squares of toast crunch ending up in Steve’s hair. Bucky laughs as Steve shakes his head, specks of sugar and cereal flying everywhere. He pulls at his shirt, where a few more cereal bits fall out from underneath his clothes. Bucky picks a piece up from where it’s fallen on his stomach, popping it into his mouth and licking his finger; Steve’s eyes darken.

 

            “Ugh, Bucky! That was the last box,” Steve complains; his scowl is lessened by the fact that he’s staring,  _very_  interested as Bucky licks his fingers clean.

 

            “Want me to lick it off for you?” Bucky teases lewdly, tugging Steve’s face down so he can kiss the sugar off his nose.

 

            “Bucky, that’s disgusting.”

 

            “Think of it like one of …what do they call ‘em…’sugar scrubs?’ Those pore-cleansing things.”

 

            Steve leans down to suck at some fallen sugar gathered in the crook of Bucky’s neck. “Is this how you write dirty talk in your books?”

 

            “Oh, you  _know_  it’s how I write dirty talk in my books. Gotta get inspiration from somewhere.” Bucky breathes in a gasp as Steve scrapes his teeth against his neck. Bucky nibbles at Steve’s earlobe, savoring the feeling of Steve on top of him, hips unconsciously grinding down against his.

 

            Bucky reaches to grab at Steve’s ass and after that, there’s a lot less talking. He slides out from under Steve and maneuvers them until Steve’s face down ass up on the couch, back arching as Bucky breathes hot air against his still-clothed thighs, biting lightly at his left cheek.

 

            Both of them are still covered in sugar, and  _shit we’re gonna ruin the couch_  but then Steve is fumbling at his belt and they’re both stripping at record speed.

 

            Bucky sits back patiently while waiting for Steve to clamber back onto the couch, and he thinks he could easily spend years just feasting his eyes on Steve’s body--the long limber lines of his body, the angles of his elbows, the leanness of his legs. Steve catches him staring and flushes, arching a cocky eyebrow.

 

            “You gonna just stare or are you gonna do something.”

 

            Bucky rearranges the two of them so that Steve’s on his stomach and has a pillow underneath his hips. Sprawled on the couch, Steve is the picture of debauched, hips already grinding small circles into the cushions; Bucky’s mouth waters as he grabs Steve’s ass in both his hands and spreads, leaning in and licking a filthy stripe over his hole.

 

Steve keens, bucking forward into the pillow, and  _fuck_  if that isn’t the hottest thing Bucky’s ever seen. From here, Bucky can make out all the dips and valleys of Steve’s back, and he runs a hot hand down Steve’s neck quivering spine from his neck to the end of his tailbone. Steve’s ass is firm under his hands, the perfect amount for Bucky to grab a handful

 

            “God look at you, so greedy for me,” Bucky murmurs, kissing his hole before circling it with his tongue, sloppy and filthy. He spits, massaging the slick against Steve’s twitching hole and then really goes to town, sucking and licking at the sensitive skin there until Steve’s arm start to shake.

 

            Bucky sucks on his finger and then pushes in to the knuckle, shuddering when he feels Steve resist for all of second before swallowing his finger in. Bucky licks all around the rim and pushes his tongue in with his finger, relishing the clenching wet heat of  _Steve_.

 

            Steve lurches forward and then backward, a string of curses falling from his perfect slack mouth; Bucky has to press his other hand hard against himself to stop from coming right there. He could do this for hours, licking Steve out until his hole is loose and open and he’s begging for more.

 

            “C’mon Bucky…fuck me already,” Steve breathes, and there’s an intensity in the air; Bucky doesn’t really want to wait either, tonight. He hops off the couch and sprints to the bedroom to grab condoms and lube from the bedside drawer, and the sight that greets him when he rushes back into the living room sucks the air out of his lungs.

 

            Steve’s on his back, skinny legs lifted up towards his chest while one hand moving on his dick, the fingers on his other hand lazily playing with his hole. Bucky’s brain short circuits.  

 

            The second he’s back over at the couch he’s touching Steve everywhere, hands roving down Steve’s sides to rest at his hips. Steve fucks his tongue into Bucky’s mouth, dirty and sloppy like he doesn’t even care if he drools all over the both of them. Steve looks utterly  _wrecked_ , flushed from his neck to his chest, hips moving up to grind against Bucky’s like he can’t get enough.

 

            Bucky’s vision narrows, hands trembling with urgency when he goes to pop the cap on the bottle of lube to squirt it onto his fingers. He presses two slick fingers against Steve’s entrance and can’t help but tease a little, circling around the puckered outside. Steve moves his own hips down, and Bucky’s fingers slip with some resistance into him. Steve’s hot as a furnace inside, all tight velvety muscle. Bucky searches, pumping his fingers in and out slowly until he finally hits a place that makes Steve arch off the couch, eyes rolling back into his head.

 

            “C’mon Bucky,” Steve eventually groans, sweat-damp bangs sticking to his forehead, “you gonna make me wait for you ‘til I turn 90?”

 

            Bucky twists his fingers just right to make Steve gasp, then pulls them out slowly so he can tear off a condom from the strip. Steve snatches it out of his hands and rips the packet open with his teeth, spitting out a bit of wrapper as he takes the end of it in between his lips and sits up and forward to roll the condom onto Bucky’s cock with his mouth, hands pushing the condom down the rest of the way; Bucky’s mesmerized by the sight heat building in his gut when Steve’s eyes dart up to meet his and he purposefully flicks his tongue against the head of his cock, mischief in the corners of his lips.

 

            Steve bobs his head up and down a few times and then sucks; his kiss-swollen lips stretched obscenely wide, coupled with slurping noises and hollowed cheeks every time he goes down just a little too far.

 

            “Steve this is gonna be over soon if you keep doing that,” Bucky moans, because as much as he wants Steve to keep this up, they’ve both got other things they want. Steve comes back up with a pop, strings of drool hanging from Bucky’s dick to Steve’s lips and it’s so blisteringly sexy that Bucky thinks he blacks out for a second.

 

            There’s a flurry of movement where both of them get resettled on the couch, Steve underneath him with his legs up over Bucky’s shoulders. Bucky pushes in slow and careful, and Steve is surrounding him, hot and slick and perfect. Bucky has to take a few deep breaths to calm himself and make sure he won’t shoot off the instant he moves.

 

            “Bucky,  _move,_ ” Steve demands breathlessly a few seconds later, “I’m not gonna break.”

 

            Bucky leans down to capture his lips in a kiss, one hand moving to stroke Steve’s cock in time with Bucky’s gentle thrusts in. Bucky puts his other hand behind Steve’s neck as support so he can kiss him, latching on to Steve’s bottom lip and sucking it into his mouth.

 

            Steve’s hips are moving down to fuck himself onto Bucky’s dick, then jerking up to meet the hot circle of Bucky’s fist, little whimpers escaping each time Bucky hits the right spot. Neither is going to last long this way. He can feel pressure mounting in his gut and he speeds up, swiping his thumb around the head of Steve’s dick every time he strokes him.

           

            Bucky moves down to suck a mark right under Steve’s jaw and when he pulls away so he can kiss Steve again, there are tears gathered at the corner of Steve’s eyes, mouth dropped open in pleasure and that’s  _it._

 

            Steve’s voice cracks on his name as Bucky thrusts in one last time, burying his face in Steve’s neck, his name on Bucky’s lips.

 

            An indeterminable time later Bucky feels slack lips move against his, coaxing him back into consciousness. Steve’s there, clear blue eyes gazing down with fondness and Bucky’s tingles everywhere, warm and happy. Steve’s beautifully fucked out, shivering from the aftershocks, lovely from the top of his messy blonde head to the soles of his slender feet, and it takes Bucky’s breath away. Around Steve, he doesn’t ever think he’ll catch his breath.

 

\---

            “I can’t believe we missed the ball drop because we were fucking.”

 

            “I know,” Bucky says smugly.

 

            Steve rolls his eyes, but kisses Bucky.

 

            “Happy New Year, Buck.”

 

            “Happy New Year, Stevie.”

 

             _It’s gonna be a damn good year._

\---

 

             _They hold each other and watch the fireworks through their window, bodies entwined, eyes illuminated with each bright explosion of color._

 

             _It is the start of many years to come._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for Sebastian Standom Secret Santa Fandom Exchange (phew!), for ghostlywhitedirewolf. Thank you so much for being patient--I hope that you enjoy this, and that you had an awesome New Year! :)
> 
> Also, huge thanks and hugs to [cptsassrogers](http://cptsassrogers.tumblr.com), [mystuckyfeels](http://mystuckyfeels.tumblr.com) and [likeappletrees](http://likeappletrees.tumblr.com)for beta-ing, giving adivce, holding my hand while I whined, and being awesome people. You guys rock!
> 
> Click [here](http://whoisbuckybarnes.tumblr.com/the%20sweetest%20thing) for outtakes and author notes.


End file.
